A symphony for the boy-king
by if-llamas-could-fly
Summary: A set of lyrics. A song-fic. A story of music and silence, life and death. (Inspired by my new song - 'A symphony called insanity')


**A/N So, I actually started working on another story, but then I just suddenly got hit by the ****_need_**** to write a song-fic, and I did. Why? Because I can. Anyway, enjoy the story! :)** _~Sammy_

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_I thought I was better off without that song in my mind._

_Thought it was something to lose, not something to find._

_And now I'm crazy without a tune to twirl to._

_I've lost my mind, lost my song too._

Music has been around since the beginning of time. Whether it's simply the rustle of leaves, or the sawing of a violin, there is a song in every action.

There was once an angel of music, and in its presence, the world _sang_. The grass shook, the air buzzed, the water tumbled, and there was a symphony that was the universe. Then the angel, that musical _star_, it fell. It was banished from the world, and though the music was not lost, the world lost its need for a tune to dance to.

_This song is a song of empty sadness._

_The music will shelter us from madness._

Music had always been a part of his life. It was one of the few constants in an existence that was ever on the move. It was the strange truce that was called at the end of a fight. It was the silent apology, the unsaid thank-you. It was not his choice of music. It was not listened to for his own pleasure. It was not music that anybody else would cherish. But he knew no other tune, and so he loved it.

It was the heavy beats and harsh strums of classic rock. It was the deep off-key humming that was his brother. It was the thrumming of an old cared-for engine. It was the hissing of tires on the blacktop. It was the rattling of lego-crammed heating vents. It was the soft sliding of leather jackets on vinyl seats. It was the almost silent snick of a knife being sharpened. It was the click of a gun being loaded. It was the midnight patter of a leaky tap. It was the groaning of ancient walls settling into the ground. It was the crunching of gravel underfoot. It was the grunts of pain and resilient and stubborn 'I'm fine's. It was the imperceptible swoosh of a needle and thread slipping through flesh. It was the obnoxious clink of glass against glass and the rush of alcohol being poured out.

It was not the usual type of music, but to him, there was no sound more beautiful.

_And I'm scared that one day my voice will fail me._

_I'm scared that singing won't be this easy._

Silence was never welcome. Silence was the quiet before the storm. Silence was the trap fro lamb-hunting wolves. Silence was the dark omen before the battle. Silence was the first sign of the apocalypse.

He hated the silence. There was rarely any quiet in his life, and when there was, it was never for a good reason. It was silent when she did in those flames- his mom and Jess. It was silent when his dad died, silent when the pyre burnt itself to ash. It was silent when his last breath escaped him, silent as that knife slid into his back. It was silent when he clutched his brother's torn chest and wept. It was silent when he stood that that pitiful grave with it's makeshift cross, silent when that hellish poison pulsated through his veins. It was silent when the devil's blinding light swept through the convent. It was silent when he jumped into that gaping route to the cage. It was silent when he stood before his family, silent when he was lost without a soul. It was silent when his wall fell, silent when the devil first smiled at him. It was silent when his brother and his friend disappeared, silent when he realized he was completely alone. It was silent when he didn't complete that final trial. It was silent when the angels plummeted down to the earth, silent when heaven was ruined and hell remained open.

It was silent when, despite letting them go, the trials were finally too much for him.

_I wonder what will happen when my fingers quit strumming._

_I wonder what'll happen when my heart stops drumming._

Heaven was never silent. The choir of angels serenaded the clouds and the night skies. The millions of wings flapped and whirred as they swept through the air. The Host hummed with all the holy power that was the Faith of believers.

Hell was never silent. The angel of music made the fires sing. The brimstone and sulfur grumbled. The souls keened and wailed in soprano. The demons laughed in a deep baritone. And it was the sonata of a star who was lonely. It was the composition of an angel who knew nothing but that anger at its core and the music in its Grace.

Death was the single anticipatory moment between one note and the next. It was the peak of the rise before the inevitable descent. It was the final vibration of that string, the final brush of that ivory key, the final buzz of that bow.

He has never heard a more gorgeous cacophony.

_Will the sun give way to a bleeding moon?_

_Will I be rescued from this quiet soon?_

_I run and I dance and I sing my only song._

_I pray that this sound won't elude me for long._

_And I'm scared that one day my voice will fail me._

_I'm scared that singing won't be this easy._

_I wonder what will happen when my fingers quit strumming._

_I wonder what'll happen when my heart stops drumming._

_This song is a song of empty sadness._

_The music will shelter us from madness._

_I thought I was better off without that song in my mind._

_Thought it was something to lose, not something to find._

_And now I'm crazy without a tune to twirl to._

_I've lost my mind, lost my song too._

_This song is a song of empty sadness._

_The music will shelter us from madness._

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**A/N So... did you like it? Did you not like it? Would you like to throw tomatoes at my head and ****_boo_**** me off stage? Leave a review! :)** _~Sammy_

**(P.S. The song's called ****_A symphony called insanity, _****and is written by me, so if you like the words, I'll give you permission to use 'em in a story, as long as I'm given credit.)**


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